


A Saturday Kind of Love

by MapleLeafSquareRoot



Series: Emu's AUs [6]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Laundromat, Fluff, M/M, Smut, So much laundry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:21:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23504530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleLeafSquareRoot/pseuds/MapleLeafSquareRoot
Summary: David Rose is not a morning person.  This we know.However, in order to not connect with people, self preservation has him up early on Saturday mornings to do his laundry at the Elmdale laundromat - "Get the Funk Out".Patrick Brewer is a morning person.In the interest of efficiency, he is up and productive early on Saturday mornings.  And Saturday mornings in the Brewer household were typically laundry days.An Alternate Universe, narrated as a series of Saturdays.  Maybe some Sundays. Because you know.  Mornings after.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Emu's AUs [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1480871
Comments: 141
Kudos: 180





	1. The first through fourth Saturdays

**Author's Note:**

> Titled with apologies to Etta James for "A Sunday Kind of Love".
> 
> Love and thanks to TINN for the brainstorming, reworking, encouragement and insistence.
> 
> I promise it earns its rating.

For the fourth Saturday in a row, David Rose found himself at Elmdale’s only laundromat _Get the Funk Out_ by 9 am, caramel macchiato in hand, and his leatherbound notebook tucked into his Burberry messenger bag.

  
And for the fourth Saturday in a row, he was greeted with a small smile from a man dressed not unlike a youth pastor - baby blue button up, mid-range denim and a braided belt - who sat near the corner bank of machines, reading a book while his laundry washed and dried. Unlike the first two Saturdays, when David had been loathe to make eye contact so early in the morning, today, he easily returned the smile before staking his claim in the opposite corner bank of machines. Perhaps the change in demeanor was attributed to personal growth, or perhaps it was that in spite of his pedestrian style of dress, the man in blue, now known as ‘Patrick’ was very cute. Likely the latter, as David Rose was not, and would never be, a morning person. And since we are truth-telling, his choice of washing machines was purely a matter of vantage point to sneak glances at the man in blue across from him. 

The last two Saturdays, had, at best, witnessed small talk between the two men. David, ever guarded, and Patrick, oscillating between flirtatious and teasing, or overly confident and sure of himself. The latter, having an unexpected effect on David, lingering long after their unmentionables and daily wear were laundered, and they had gone their separate ways when the timers had run out. Each Sunday through Friday was just enough time for David to recover, convince himself that Patrick was likely straight, perhaps married, but in any event, would either be too nice, or never the type, to be interested in someone like himself.  _ Damaged goods _ , he reminded himself, even as he spent an extra 15 minutes on his hair, and slid his lithe legs in his favourite jeans with the ripped knees. He repeated it to himself as the worst possible mantra, as a way of tamping down the nervous excitement he felt as he opened the door to the laundromat, as though life had taught him that allowing himself to feel any sort of hope was futile.  _ Pleasant small talk whilst doing a routine chore,  _ he chided himself.  _ Nothing more.  _ But week after week, smile after cotton-button-up-clad smile, the strength of the narrative David forced himself to recite weakened, and he looked forward to laundry day more than he thought any reasonable human should. 


	2. The fifth Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the fifth Saturday in a row, David and Patrick share space at Get the Funk Out.

David arrived at the laundromat ahead of schedule, thanks to a malfunctioning hot water tank that cut his morning shower short, and a coffee shop that expressed no remorse at having no caramel syrup available.  _ Seriously.  _ He dropped his basket on the counter with an exasperated huff, and began sorting his laundry into two piles. 

At five minutes to nine, the bell over the door chimed, and Patrick entered, looking freshly showered, and relaxed. With one hand, he balanced his laundry basket precariously on his hip, kicking the door open while holding a coffee cup in his other hand. David cast a quick glance in his direction, giving a perfunctory reply to Patrick’s bright greeting, and returned focus to starting his two loads of laundry. Still lost in the misery of his morning, David didn’t notice the soft footsteps behind him, jumping when Patrick spoke. “Here,” he said gently, offering up the takeout cup. Patrick saw the hesitance on David’s face as he reached out and accepted the cup, a mini-series of emotions playing across David’s features. “I...saw on Instagram that **Espresso Express-o** had an issue with their delivery this week, and they ended up with sixteen bottles of sugar-free vanilla and not a single bottle of caramel, and I just thought…” Patrick trailed off, seeing the tension in David’s face release, and his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. 

David looked at the order, handwritten on the branded **Cafe Latte Da** sleeve - caramel macchiato, skim, two sweetener, sprinkle of cocoa powder. “H-h-how did you know?” he managed to stammer, lips curling into a small smile, heart growing larger by the moment, despite his best efforts at self-sabotage. 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Patrick replied shyly. 

“Um...this...this is not nothing, so thank you, Patrick.” David bought himself a moment taking a sip, or so he thought until a small, satisfied moan escaped his lips unbidden, the sound of which caused Patrick to chuckle. David clapped his free hand over his mouth, which made Patrick laugh even harder. And between the brilliant sun outside, the hot coffee in his hand, and the sparkling eyes of a man who was maybe, just maybe, flirting with him, David’s morning just got a whole lot better. 


	3. The sixth Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sixth Saturday at Get the Funk Out, from Patrick's POV.

Patrick Brewer liked meaningful work. He liked to be kept busy, kept accountable, see the impact of his work. Which is why he was never really one to feel like he was working for the weekend. Until very recently, that is, thanks to a handsome man with a penchant for black sweaters, and perfectly coiffed raven-coloured hair. Five weeks and three days ago, the washing machine in Ray’s house had finally given up the ghost after years of abuse between his tie-dyeing venture, linen rentals, and attempts at inventing a cashmere sweater that could withstand a hot water wash, which meant Patrick had to pack up his own laundry and relive his college days at the local laundromat. He expected to have some quiet time to himself, with a cup of tea, and a good book. He was not expecting to meet David Rose, who had, since that first Saturday and despite his initial cool demeanour, occupied Patrick’s mind, morning, noon and night. Especially night. He had been working up the courage to ask David out on a date, and had some so close last Saturday when he scored big points by bringing David a coffee. But then he chickened out, sticking to safe conversation, and settling for exchanging soft smiles and glances, and a promise to himself that this Saturday, he would do it. 

It was all so easy in theory, and in rehearsal in front of the bathroom mirror, in the intervening time, but now, Patrick was frozen, with his back to David as he waited for his wash to finish. His mind raced with a thousand possibilities, from first dates to movie nights, to afternoons spent tangled up in each other. 

Patrick could see it so clearly. Could nearly feel it, if he closed his eyes with his fingers splayed wide on the washing machine as it finished its final spin. His pelvis swayed slightly, as he imagined David pressed up behind him, pants dropped to their ankles, with the slick slide of David’s rock hard cock between his thighs. The vibration of the washing machine adding to the sensation of David moving back and forth, making Patrick’s blood dance as he crept closer and closer to the edge. He can feel the crest rising, when the bell over the laundromat door rings loudly, bringing him back to the moment. 

“Patrick!”

He’d recognize that cheery lilt anywhere. Patrick grimaced, grabbed his laundry basket, placing it strategically across his lower half as he turned around. Sure enough, there stood Ray, half-in, half-out of the laundromat, his foot propping open the door. 

“Patrick, what are you doing here? The washing machine was replaced three weeks ago!” With a teasing chuckle, Ray let the door close, continuing on his merry way. 

Meanwhile, Patrick stood frozen, mortified at being outed by Ray as an needless patron of the laundromat. Keeping his gaze down, he turned his focus back to the washing machine, pulling the clean load out, and immediately transferring it to the closest dryer behind him. He could sense David’s eyes following his every move, making him more nervous, and causing him to fumble with his change, dropping one, just one, but still one very necessary quarter on the ground. As if in slow motion, Patrick watched it roll on the speckled linoleum, coming to rest thanks to a well-timed stomp from a Rick Owens sneaker. Patrick watched as a masculine, yet delicate and well-manicured hand, the one he was imagining raking over his hips mere moments ago, reached down, pinching the quarter between the thumb and forefinger. It was unavoidable. Patrick looked up. David’s eyes were dancing. Patrick accepted his quarter, but remained mortified. “Thank you, David.” he managed to squeak out, before turning back and inserting the quarter into the dryer. 

For the next 22 minutes, Patrick stared at the dryer as his clothes tumbled and dried. He found the rhythm of their movement soothing, and for a moment, was able to forget his embarrassment. At minute 23, he heard the telltale sounds of David packing his clean laundry up in his tote, and a soft “Goodbye, Patrick” before the laundromat door chime rang. 

Mustering up all the courage he could, Patrick turned around “Goodbye, Da -” to find David already gone. 

At minute 27, Patrick pulled his dried laundry out of the machine, tossing it haphazardly into the basket to sort it at home, not noticing that an errant Tom Ford fitted white undershirt had made its way into the bundle. 


	4. The seventh Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick seeks to return David's Tom Ford undershirt.

It had been a fitful night of sleep for Patrick Brewer.

All week, he had hemmed and hawed, as to how to return what had to be David’s Tom Ford white undershirt. There was a low probability that it belonged to that hipster college student, or the Brebner’s cashier who had clearly just gotten off shift, but Patrick doubted anyone else within a 100 kilometre radius knew who Tom Ford was, let alone had any item from his collection in their wardrobe. Patrick had considered his options, typically while gently fingering the hem of the soft t-shirt between his thumb and forefinger, eyes closed, imagining pulling it up and over David’s head, revealing what he had no doubt what was spectacularly soft, olive and freckled skin. Ultimately, the path of least resistance, and the one with the least probability of rejection was to simply return to the scene of the crime on Saturday morning. Patrick had gone over the plan sixty-three times in his head. Walk in, casual, small talk, hand over the shirt, avoid all questions, leave. Move on. 

So when he opens the door to Get the Funk Out at 10:15 am, when David’s final load would reliably be in the dryer, to find no David Rose at all, Patrick is thrown for a loop. He spends a solid five minutes standing awkwardly in the entrance, eyes scanning the facility, as though expecting David to have been hiding under a folding table, or cached behind the vending machine. Dejected, Patrick returned home, needing to regroup, improvise, adapt, overcome. 

Maybe try next Saturday. Maybe mail the t-shirt care of...where? Maybe move to Iowa. Start over. Again. 


	5. The eighth Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick improvises, adapts, overcomes, and does not run away this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to TINN who wouldn't let me be a petulant child and gloss over the first kiss.

In a flash, it’s Saturday again. Patrick had managed to keep himself relatively distracted, and reasonably convinced that a move to anywhere was not necessary, all week. Despite his best efforts, the only amendment to his plan to return David’s undershirt was to start his day off on a better footing by going for a run, and enjoying a hot tea, before once again risking taking a hit to his flagging self-esteem by checking in at the laundromat. To force the issue, Patrick chugged a can of redbull before pulling on his shorts, tugging a fitted compression shirt on top, and tying his runners. Headphones in, obnoxious music drowning out any semblance of conscious thought, Patrick set off down Main Street Schitt’s Creek. Left, right, left, right, left, right...his rhythm and cadence operating in tandem to alleviate the sensation of his blood dancing the salsa in his veins. He rounded a blind corner, successfully deking to avoid a young mother pushing a stroller, and narrowly dodging a large puddle, but failing to notice the tall man dressed in all black leaving Cafe Latte Da, until his forehead made solid contact with the other man’s shoulder.

The collision knocked David’s caramel macchiato to the sidewalk below, drawing his gaze downward momentarily, before his attention turned to the man who had just run into him.

“Patrick! Ohmygod, are you ok?”

Patrick looked up at David, a little dazed, both from the impact and from the unexpected interjection of David Rose into his morning. He was pretty sure he wasn’t concussed, but was still having trouble focusing on the words coming from David’s mouth. 

“I have your shirt!” he blurted out. 

David looked confused. “What shirt?”

“Uh...I found a white undershirt in my laundry. It’s not mine - I think it cost more than my rent.”

David pursed his lips together in a small smile. “Mmm! I wondered what happened to that. I just assumed I dropped it, and it ended up in the grubby hands of one of those hipsters.”

Still a bit flustered, Patrick gestured in the general direction of Ray’s house. “I can go get your shirt and bring it to you later today. You’ll be around?”

David cast a glance of his own towards the motel. He looked sad. His voice a bit hoarse. “Uh, yeah. It’s my birthday? And my family forgot, so I’ll be popping a pill, crying a bit, and falling asleep early.”

_ Holy shit. Do it, Brewer.  _ Patrick took a deep breath.

“We could do birthday dinner?” 

“You don’t have to do that.”

“No, no, I’d like to. Meet at the cafe for 8?”

Patrick didn’t miss David’s brief hesitation, but the small smile quirking up from the corner of his mouth didn’t escape notice either.

“Sure.” And with a flourish, David was gone. Patrick turned around to return home, unable and unwilling to suppress the grin taking over his face. 

In fact, despite some nerves, and a bit of a false start when David’s friend Stevie showed up to the cafe, Patrick was pretty sure the smile on his face was a permanent fixture by the time he pulled up to the motel to drop David off. Or, at least it  _ was _ until David leaned in, cupping Patrick’s cheek, and otherwise occupied his lips. Patrick leaned into the cool press of David’s silver rings, parted his lips slightly, tasting the remnants of dessert on David’s tongue. David pulled back slowly, the scrape of his stubble drawing a groan from Patrick, whose head then dropped back against the headrest. 

A few seconds of silence elapsed, as Patrick regulated his breathing. Making eye contact with David finally, he spoke softly on an exhale.

“Thank you.”

David’s lips quirked to the side. “For what?”

“Um, I’ve never done that before...with a guy. So, uh, thank you for...making that happen for us.”

Now it’s David’s turn to beam. “Well, fortunately, I am a very generous person, so….”

Patrick huffed out a small laugh. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

David reached for the door handle. “We can talk whenever you like. Just preferably not before 10 am, because I’m only up early on Saturdays.”

Patrick was charmed. “Mmhmm. Goodnight, David.”

David got out of the car, Tom Ford undershirt in hand. 

“Goodnight, Patrick.”


	6. The ninth Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick and David plan for a second date consisting of pizza and a movie.

If Patrick spent too much time thinking about the difference between the week prior, and the week leading up to the ninth Saturday, the sensation was a little like whiplash. Where the week leading up to  _ that _ Saturday, the one where he finally got up the courage to ask David out, had crawled by, wrapped up in anticipatory dread, the week leading up to the ninth Saturday was drawn out like slow, sweet molasses. In between meetings with Ray, paperwork, and routine business, Patrick and David exchanged rapidfire texts, as though a dam had broken and they were desperate to devour everything about each other. It only served to build the tension between the two of them, leading up to their second date on the ninth Saturday.

Knowing Ray would be out for the evening, Patrick had invited David over for a night of pizza and movies. But come early Saturday morning, Patrick was wide awake, pacing, and unable to wait another minute before seeing David again. Fortunately, he knew just where to find him.

David didn’t even react to the chime of the laundromat door opening, he was so engrossed in sketching in his notebook. Nor did he look up as Patrick approached him. It wasn’t until Patrick’s leather loafers were in his line of sight that he finally lifted his gaze.

“Hi,” he said tenderly, closing his notebook.

Patrick handed him the coffee and small paper bag from Cafe Latte Da. “Hi.”

David thanked him for the treats, and turned his attention to the washing machine just finishing its final spin. “You’re up and about early,” he remarked, looking up at the clock. 

As if 9 am is _early_ for a Brewer. The corners of Patrick’s mouth turned upwards in an amused little smile.  “I’ve been up since 5. Could not sleep. Thinking about...last Saturday. And tonight.” 

“Regrets?” David’s face braced for the response.

“What? No! Why would I have regrets?” 

“I don’t know! It’s just a habit to ask.” David looked a bit exasperated with himself, and a bit flustered. And it was adorable. He finished loading the dryer, and leaned against the bank of machines.

Patrick wanted to reassure David. “No, no, I feel good. I feel like a weight’s been lifted off my shoulders.” He placed his hands on David’s waist, turning him gently so they were face to face, ensuring eye contact as he spoke. “You know. When you kissed me, that felt like my first time. All the things you’re supposed to feel...I felt them.”

David draped his arms lightly over Patrick’s shoulders. “Well, If we’re being honest,” he started fighting the smirk threatening to overtake his face, “it was kind of like my first time, too. I mean, it’s not. I’ve kissed like a thousand people. But no one that I respected. Or like. Or thought was...nice.”

“Thank you, David. And for the record, I respect you. And like you. And think you are a good person.” Patrick leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to David’s lips. 

“Mmk, it’s just that I said,  _ nice _ .” 

Patrick smiled into another kiss. “I know. I have to get going.”

“You’re not staying?” 

“No, David. It’s Saturday. I have laundry to do.” Patrick deadpanned as he leaned in for one last kiss. “I’ll see you at 6.”


	7. An interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As advertised. A short interlude.

In the last three weeks, Patrick and David had gone from first kisses, to second, third, fourth dates, to establishing a comfortable pattern of spending most of most days together. Especially now that plans for the Rose Apothecary - a general, yet very specific, store that will feature products from local artisans on consignment sale - were swiftly underway, and Patrick had gone from assisting with the filing of incorporation papers, to offering to help David obtain small-business grants, to David’s business partner in a matter of days. 

The busy-ness of getting the store ready to open, the utter lack of privacy, and Patrick’s desire to take things slowly, were all a blessing in disguise, as they navigated the beginning stages of all aspects of their relationship. Invaluable time spent tucked away in a booth at the cafe, or walking down the streets of Schitt’s Creek late at night, fingers intertwined. But inevitably, kisses became more intense, more searching as they trailed down jawlines and necks, and hands began to wander. 

The confidence with which Patrick declared “Oh, I’m gonna get the money” in response to David’s concern about obtaining small-business grants, had sent a shiver up David’s spine, and he had fumbled to lock the door before dragging Patrick behind the stockroom curtain. His hands shook as he undid Patrick’s terrible braided leather belt, and mid-range denim, and his eyes blazed with desire as he took Patrick’s cock in his hand, and expressed his appreciation in the best way he knew. 

While temporarily satiated, this lit a fire in both of them, making it abundantly obvious that they needed to find some real privacy, and some time to linger, as soon as possible.


	8. The thirteenth Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Ray's away, David and Patrick do laundry together in private.  
> Is that a euphemism? Maybe. 
> 
> Fic earns it's hard E rating here.

Patrick couldn’t believe it had taken him four weeks to think to invite David over to do his laundry at Ray’s. In fact, he couldn’t believe that it had been Ray’s idea, sprung on Patrick the night before as Ray packed for a weekend-long closet organization trade show in Elm Glen. 

But no matter the origin of the idea, it was  _ fucking fantastic _ , he thought to himself, as David trailed him down the stairs to the laundry room. With David’s laundry in the washing machine, and the timer set for 45 minutes, they had quickly stripped down to their boxers, and Patrick had made good use of 38 of those 45 minutes, taking David apart slowly and methodically before he came with a cry, spilling over Patrick’s hand and onto his own stomach. The timer went off just as David returned from cleaning himself up, and Patrick hopped off the bed to head downstairs to swap the laundry out into the dryer. David wasn’t far behind, having quickly pulled on his underwear. Patrick felt him crowd against his back, as he reached the washing machine. He braced himself against the machine and took a deep inhale. 

With his eyes squeezed shut, fingers splayed on top of Ray’s Maytag washer and David rubbing his hands along his flank, Patrick can’t help but flashback to that sixth Saturday when he nearly lost control with nearly this exact fantasy. Except this was real. And David was slinking down to his knees behind him, with his hands trailing down Patrick’s side. Only the light cotton fabric of Patrick’s boxers separated David’s lips from Patrick’s skin, and with each press of David’s lips Patrick’s skin smouldered, surely to soon burst into flames. With a nip at Patrick’s waist, David pulled Patrick’s boxers down to his ankles, giving him an opportunity to step out of them. Patrick shakily complied, attempting to turn around, but was held in place by David’s strong hands. Those same strong hands gently pried Patrick’s ass cheeks apart, thumbs tracing along the crack, marking the path followed immediately by David’s tongue. Patrick gasped, caught between the pleasure of the sensation, and the dissonance in his brain of the illicitness and intimacy of David’s mouth exploring the most private parts of Patrick’s physical body. A few swipes of his tongue across Patrick’s hole, and David was righting himself, hands feathering across Patrick’s skin, mouth coming to whisper behind Patrick’s ear. 

“ _Meet me in your room,_ ” he breathed. 

Hands shaking, barely able to connect to the messages from his brain, Patrick moved the laundry from the washer to the dryer, slamming the door shut and clumsily starting the machine before stumbling upstairs to the bedroom, still naked, boxers in hand. 

He paused with his hand on the door knob, taking a deep, steadying breath, his imagination running amok in anticipation of what he would find on the other side. Exhaling sharply, Patrick opened the door slowly. 

For the second, or fifth, or hell, _who was counting-th_ , time, reality far surpassed anything Patrick’s mind could have possibly conjured. David was on the bed, laying on his side, propped up on one elbow, wearing only his black boxer briefs, and that eyebrow that communicated clearly David’s intent with a single quirk. Patrick stood, frozen in place, breathless at the sight of David’s olive skin, firm chest, and long, lithe legs on full display, illuminated only by the moonlight pouring in the window. Wordlessly, David patted the space in front of him.

Patrick felt the deep flush spread across his face and down his chest. His heart rate ratcheted up to near-aerobic levels, as he forced his feet to move across the floor. Fake it til you make it, he told himself, as he confidently knelt on the bed, one hand on David’s hip guiding him to lie on his back, the other bracing himself as he swung one leg over David, coming to sit straddled on his lap. 

Even in the low light, David’s eyes danced with delight at Patrick’s bold move. He reached up, hot hands searing into Patrick’s skin as he pulled Patrick down for a slow, searching, filthy kiss. 

Breaking the kiss, Patrick felt David shift beneath him, his hips bumping up slightly, tipping Patrick further up, mounting David’s chest. One of David’s impossibly soft hands released its grip from Patrick’s back, coming to demonstrate their strength wrapping long fingers around the base of Patrick’s cock, guiding it towards David’s luscious, kiss-swollen lips. 

David held Patrick’s throbbing cock in place, letting it bob against his tongue, the corners of his mouth curling up in a smile. Patrick looked down, the sight below him too much to bear. His head dropped back, a low moan escaping his lips, and his hips bucking involuntarily forward. 

David’s smile turned into a wicked grin, as he held Patrick’s cock with one hand, the other traced down Patrick’s backside, transitioning to a single figure dragging down the crack of his ass, coming to rest with just enough pressure on Patrick’s hole, causing Patrick to gasp. David took Patrick’s cock fully into his mouth, stroking him from the root as he licked up and over the most sensitive spots, while his finger alternated between pressing lightly and drawing small circles over Patrick’s entrance. Patrick knew he wasn’t going to last long, but alerting David to that fact only caused David’s beautiful brow to furrow, his grip to intensify, his tongue to sharpen, and his finger to press harder. In a blink it seemed, Patrick’s entire body was seizing, his pelvis stuttering as he came in David’s hot and waiting mouth. Between heaving breaths, he looked down, only to have the blissful look on David’s face - eyes closed, eyelashes brushing rosy cheeks, lips curved into a contented smile - cause his body to twitch and jerk, and his eyes roll back in his head. Surely, this was how he dies, Patrick thought, but what a way to go. 

David held Patrick’s softening cock gently in his mouth until it was just on the side of too sensitive. Patrick sat back, bracing himself with his hands on David’s chest. David ran his own hands down Patrick’s sides, causing Patrick to shudder and twitch, which in turn made David laugh. Patrick leaned down, lips ghosting across David’s. “Thank you, David.” he whispered. Patrick felt David’s smile bloom against his lips. 

_ Best Saturday yet. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last two chapters will be posted tomorrow!
> 
> Thanks for sticking around!
> 
> Stay safe. Stay inside. Read fic. Leave nice comments for your neighbourhood fic writers who are also stuck inside.


	9. The morning after the sixty-third Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick takes his parents out for breakfast, the morning after his surprise party.

The days had flown by, in a flurry of days filled with laundry, pizza dates, luxurious naps and long nights spent wrapped up in each other. A sunny Saturday witnessed their first  _ I love yous _ , and the Sunday that followed was spent almost entirely in bed, pressing those words into each other’s skin with kisses and tender touches. One rainy Saturday was spent moving Patrick into his own apartment, and the morning after they were both hoarse from the wild abandon with which they could finally celebrate their bodies. But most Saturdays were routine - safe, predictable, and ending with a sense of warmth and domesticity. 

With Saturdays being one of Rose Apothecary’s busiest, they had long since transitioned laundry day to Sundays, but still, that time spent together, methodically separating whites, colours, knits, and delicates, and tending to each warm pile from the dryer in turn, was sacred together time. In between loads, books were read, dreams were shared, and a thousand soft kisses passed between them. 

It was time so sacred that even Patrick hesitated before inviting his parents to breakfast on the Sunday morning after his not-so-surprise birthday party, even though he hadn’t seen them in over a year, and had scarcely spoken to them at length about any matters of importance since he left home in a panic to reinvent himself. But Patrick knew that David knew how much it meant to him to have his last deep, dark, and frightening secret revealed, which is how he came to be across from his parents in a Cafe Tropical booth yet again. This time, with a lot less weight on his shoulders, and no fear in his heart. The only gnaw in his stomach being hunger, and nothing but peace in his heart.

“So, listen,...” Patrick began, as he broke the yolk on his poached eggs, letting them run over his cinnamon raisin french toast. “I know last night was a lot, but there’s something else you need to know…” He pulled a long, black velvet box from his coat pocket, opening it to reveal four stunning gold rings, and passed it to his mother, who had already begun to tear up. “I just...needed you to know...before I asked David to marry me.”


	10. The one-hundred-and-eighth Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last Saturday as chronicled in this story, but we all know they went on to live a lifetime of happy Saturdays (and all other days of the week) together.

Canada Day landing on a Saturday meant the Rose Apothecary was closed, giving David and Patrick the day off together. They had a few false starts in getting up before finally keeping their hands to themselves long enough to put on clothes and leave the house. 

David considered carefully the expression of the man sitting across from him in the cafe. His brows, stitched together, as he tapped his mechanical pencil against his lips. He continued to watch, relying on muscle memory alone to cut his pancakes into bit sized pieces, as his husband searched for the six-letter word for an unfortunate outcome of too much zhampagne, necessary to complete this week’s Elmdale Chronicle crossword puzzle. 

“Emesis.” David finally muttered, ready for Patrick to put down the paper in favour of his own breakfast. 

“Yes! How did you know?” Patrick quirked an eyebrow as he penciled in the last response. 

“Oh, this one time, Alexis found herself in a hospital in Johannesburg and…”

“Ok, David. I get it.” Patrick smiled, placing his pencil atop the folded paper, and turned his attention to his bacon and eggs. 

“So, RONA has a sale on appliances. I think this set would work for the house.” David passed his phone to Patrick. 

“This is the same set as Ray’s.” The blush started to creep into Patrick’s cheeks, and up to the tips of his ears.

David smirked. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Stay well, friends!


End file.
